Just Right
by tnplh
Summary: Killian can't seem to mind Emma sneaking into his bed, even months after she left him.


It was always the little things that let him know she'd been there.

The kitchen was never quite as clean. The towels in the bathroom never just so. Even at her most fastidious, Emma Swan couldn't replicate Killian Jones' level of meticulous housekeeping.

He hadn't asked for his key back. Hadn't even wanted to be in the place where he'd need to. When Emma Swan ended things with him several months prior, his first thoughts were of how he'd survive without her in his life, not keeping her from it.

So that first time after her "it's not you. It's me. I need to leave before I get hurt" speech that he returned to find the pillows on his sofa slightly askew, and the TV on a channel he'd never, ever watch willingly, he realized that at some point during his week at sea, Emma must have let herself in.

It wasn't until he climbed into bed that night that it really hit him. The smell of her invading his senses as he pulled the pillow closer. It was the best night of sleep he'd had since she left. Dreams of holding her, of happier days. Feeling that if he only stretched out, she might be there in his bed, curled up in a little ball as was her way, always within his reach.

It was when he woke that the dream died. Emma didn't want to see him, just his bed.

He wanted to say it set him back weeks, but he was lying to himself. He hadn't even come close to getting over Emma. Bereft. That's how he always felt. Waking without her after those dreams only amplified it for the days her scent still lingered in his sheets.

From there a pattern started. Every time his job took him away, a week at sea here or there, he'd come home to find the little signs that Emma had availed herself of his empty apartment. He'd quickly take a shower, not wanting any of the smell of the boat to contaminate his bed, and fall into his dreams.

He was tempted to cue her in to the fact that he knew. Buy the food he knew she liked and stock the fridge. But he worried that would scare her, and he would miss it too much, knowing she still thought of him. Or at least of his bed.

So it continued. He'd leave; she'd stay.

He always held his breath when he returned home from a voyage, pausing a moment before entering, preparing himself to look for the signs of Emma. Today he laughed as soon as he opened the door, finding his apartment a mess. This was Emma. Shoes in the middle of the hallway, jacket tossed across the table. Plates on the counter in the kitchen. TV on in the living room. He crept into his room, and there she was, curled up into a ball on what he still thought of as her side of the bed. She had his pillow tight in her grasp, and looked so peaceful he wanted to watch her forever.

There were only a few options as he saw it. And none of them perfect.

He was only slightly tempted to turn around and get a hotel for the night. Pretend he'd never been here. Let her keep her secret.

What he really wanted was to climb into bed and wrap his arms around her and hold her. To experience in reality what he had only been able to dream. But he he knew she'd run. As soon as she woke and realized she'd been caught, she'd be out the door, and he'd never get the chance to even talk to her.

He knew what he had to do. As much as he loved the ghost of Emma in his life, he needed answers, and this was the only time he would get them. The bed dipped slightly as he sat down on the edge, and he leaned over to brush a strand of hair from her face.

"Emma, Emma love, I think you've overslept."

She bolted upright, startled, and scared.

"Killian. Oh my god. I'm so sorry, you weren't supposed to find me. I'll get my stuff. I'm so sorry."

He did his best to calm her, trying to keep her from flying from the bed. Lucky for him the sheets had pinned her in, and the more she struggled to extricate herself from the tangles, the more time he had to soothe her.

"Love, it's fine. I know you've been coming here. It's okay."

She sat back, not having been prepared for that.

"You know?"

"Well love, even if you could remake my bed the exact same way as I do, I doubt that it would pick up the scent of your shampoo in my absence."

He smiled, hoping that he could continue to lighten the mood.

"You knew, and you didn't mind?"

"Love, if it were up to me you would have never left. You wouldn't be sneaking in. This would be just as much your home as mine."

He was laying it all on the line. It was time. He was saying all the things she'd denied him the opportunity to when she walked out the door so many months ago. She stayed silent, not replying.

"If you don't mind me asking, love. Why? Why sneak in and sleep in my bed?"

There was more silence as she studied his face.

"I missed you."

He reached out to stroke her cheek, hoping beyond hope that the openness of her admission meant she'd allow this. "I've been right here, Emma. I have no intention of going anywhere. I don't know why you decided I would."

Her hand brushed his stubble, longer than usual after a week at sea, and she studied him, as though she were looking for a lie.

"Because everyone I've ever cared about has left me. I needed to go before you had a chance. It would have broken me."

"Emma, my job is to protect your heart, not break it. I assure you, it's a job I took quite seriously, and will again if you'll let me."

He would have done anything he could to have stopped the tears that were pouring down her cheeks, but the more he said, the harder she cried finally burying her face in the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around and cradled her head in one hand.

They sat like this, in the dim of his room, holding each other as each appreciated the other's admissions.

It was Emma who pulled away first.

"You weren't supposed to be home until tomorrow."

"Have you been stalking me, Swan?" He joked hoping he could bring a smile to her face.

"The tracking app for the Jolly had you out for another day. What happened?"

His smile grew wider as he realized how she'd tracked his trips.

"Crew member grew ill and we had to come back early for medical attention. Winds were in our favor. If you hadn't checked lately, I doubt you'd have seen us change course."

Silence reigned in the room again.

"Are you upset, Emma? That I came back and found you?"

She deflected his question with one of her own. "Are you upset I'm here?"

"I thought we'd covered that. My best days are with you, Swan. I'm better with you here. Now, will you answer my question? Are you upset I found you?"

She leaned into him, letting him hold her close. "No. Not if everything can be okay between us."

"It will." He laid back, pulling her back into his arms as he settled in to sleep, but everything about her body protested.

"What's wrong, love?" He was concerned. He was bone tired, and wanted nothing more than to sleep, with his Swan, in his own bed.

"Okay, well maybe this should be a storybook reunion where we fall asleep in each other's arms…. But…" She paused, as though she wasn't quite sure how to say it. "You smell."

He burst out in a true laugh for the first time in months, remembering how much she used to protest to him after a week on the boat without bathing. Then he remembered another thing.

"Well love, I guess that calls for a shower before I can sleep." He stood from the bed, and started undressing, strewing his clothes across the bedroom floor in a very un-Killian Jones like manner as he headed toward the bathroom. With one last item to go, he shot her an arched look.

"I seem to remember that you liked helping me get clean. Care to join me?"

Without waiting for her reply, he shucked off his boxers and turned, leaving her staring open-mouthed at the doorway.

The water hadn't even heated up before she'd joined him, already having left her clothes scattered across the floor with his.

When they both climbed into bed, clean, spent, and happy for the first time in months, he looked forward to a future where his towels would never again be just so. Where the pillows would always be askew. And where his bed would always smell like Emma.


End file.
